DANSK

Om årtusinder

ENGLISH

In a thousand years


Ja, om årtusinder kommer de på dampens vinger igennem luften hen over verdenshavet! Amerikas unge beboere gæster det gamle Europa. De kommer til mindesmærkerne her og til de da synkende stæder, således som vi i vor tid drager til Sydasiens hensmuldrende herligheder.
Yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America will become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of Southern Asia.


Om årtusinder kommer de!
In a thousand years they will come!


Themsen, Donau, Rhinen ruller endnu; Mont Blanc står med snetop, nordlysene skinner over Nordens lande, men slægt på slægt er støv, rækker af øjeblikkets mægtige glemte, som de der nu alt slumrer i højen, hvor den velhavende melhandler, på hvis grund den er, tømrer sig en bænk for at sidde og se ud over den flade, bølgende kornmark.
The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course, Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the Northern Lights gleam over the land of the North; but generation after generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on which the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he can sit and look out across his waving corn fields.



"Til Europa!" lyder det hos Amerikas unge slægt - "til fædrenes land, mindernes og fantasiens dejlige land, Europa!"
"To Europe!" cry the young sons of America; "to the land of our ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy– to Europe!"


Luftskibet kommer; det er overfyldt med rejsende, thi farten er hurtigere end til søs; den elektromagnetiske tråd under verdenshavet har allerede telegraferet, hvor stor luftkaravanen er. Alt øjnes Europa, det er Irlands kyster der ses, men passagererne sover endnu; de vil først vækkes, når de er over England; dér betræder de Europas jord i Shakespeares land, som det hedder hos åndens sønner; politikkens land, maskinernes land, er der andre der kalder det.
The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, for the transit is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire under the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan. Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see, but the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are exactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, in the land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.


En hel dag bliver opholdet her, så meget tid har den travle slægt at give det store England og Skotland.
Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race can devote to the whole of England and Scotland.



Farten går under kanaltunnelen til Frankrig, Karl den Stores og Napoleons land, Molière nævnes, de lærde taler om en klassisk og romantisk skole i den fjerne oldtid og der jubles for helte, skjalde og videnskabsmænd, som vor tid ikke kender, men som skal fødes på Europas krater: Paris.
Then the journey is continued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity. There is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in Paris, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere.


Luftdamperen flyver hen over det land, hvorfra Columbus gik ud, hvor Cortez blev født, og hvor Calderon sang dramaer i bølgende vers; dejlige sortøjede kvinder bygger og bor endnu i de blomstrende dale, og i ældgamle sange nævnes Cid og Alhambra.
The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus went forth, where Cortez was born, and where Calderon sang dramas in sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live still in the blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and the Alhambra.


Gennem luften, over havet til Italien, hen hvor det gamle evige Roma lå; det er udslettet, Campagnen en ørk; af Peterskirken vises der en ensomstående murrest, men man tvivler om dens ægthed.
Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once lay old, everlasting Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. A single ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter's, but there is a doubt if this ruin be genuine.


Til Grækenland, for at sove en nat i det rige hotel højt på Olympens top, så har man været der; farten går mod Bosporus, for dér i nogle timer at hvile ud og se det sted, hvor Byzanz lå; fattige fiskere spænder deres net der, hvor sagnet fortæller om haremets have i tyrkernes tid.
Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the place where Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets.


Rester af mægtige byer ved den stærke Donau, byer, vor tid ikke kendte, flyves der hen over, men dér og dér – mindernes rige stæder, de, som kommer, de, som tiden føder – dér og dér daler luftkaravanen og løfter sig igen.
Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, cities which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the caravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again.


Dernede ligger Tyskland – som engang omspændtes med det tætteste net af jernbaner og kanaler – landene, hvor Luther talte, Goethe sang, og hvor Mozart i sin tid bar tonernes scepter! Store navne lyste i videnskab og kunst, navne, vi ikke kender. Én dags ophold i Tyskland og én dag for Norden, for Ørsteds og for Linnés fædreland og Norge, de gamle heltes og de unge nordmænds land. Island tages på hjemfarten; Geysir koger ikke længere, Hekla er slukket, men som sagas evige stentavle står den stærke klippeø i det brusende hav!
Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a close net of railway and canals, the region where Luther spoke, where Goethe sang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One day devoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Oersted and Linnaeus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes and the young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home. The geysers burn no more, Hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry.


"I Europa er meget at se!" siger den unge amerikaner; "og vi har set det i otte dage, og det lader sig gøre, som den store rejsende" – et navn nævnes, der hører til deres samtid – "har vist i sit berømte værk: 'Europa set i otte dage'."
"There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe," says the young American, "and we have seen it in a week, according to the directions of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name of one of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated work, 'How to See All Europe in a Week.'"





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